Something is better than nothing, I guess

25 04 2013

I have decided to write a bit more. I don’t have always something to write about slavery and S/M but that doesn’t matter I guess… I can talk of what I like and of what I am doing as it is necessary for me to keep track of my thoughts which are, in this very moment, a kaleidoscope of many different colors.
I am resting during holiday at my parent’s house. The mountains here are high and strong, a poetry behind white distand clouds, and I find myself thinking of cock more than usual.
I must say that I really like cock, but it’s more or less seven or eight months that I don’t have sex, so I kinda forget about its smell and its taste.
I find myself curious about why I like cock so much, why I think the best way is to tast it on my knees, on the floor, and what kind of magic it operates on my mind.
What drives me mad is its smell… really. Sometimes it happens in random places I can smell it and I start to think what kind of man could have this smell and what kind of cock could have that man.
I live in a world of smell. I like to sniff and I like perfume and bodily odors, but not of any kind per se. There are special smells, special fragrances the body emanates and it’s those ones that I like and cherish. My memory is involved heavily in smell too, I cant track in my experience that specific smell of that cock or those balls, sometimes more easily than the person’s face per see. I can still remember, for example, that secret moment when I entered in that house, without knowing anything and anyone and a blindfold was placed on my eyes. I never saw him before and suddenly I found myself naked at his feet and I could not see but only sniff his perfume, which was so masculine and hot it gave me an insta-boner.
Then he lifted my blindfold and I saw his balls and they were so beautiful and perfect I feel in love instantly. His cock was majestic too and stuff happened and I was a good boy I remember.
But what I mostly remember is his smell, a deep clean musk that made me drip like a whore, like the whore I am.

Today I am reading Wittgenstein. I found in his words a place where I can rest, where I can understand what are my errors, where the language is lacking the necessary tools to express our thoughts. It reminds me deeply those moments when I cannot explain, I cannot talk, those dark places where I am only sad and nothing can help me – beside maybe a good beating?
In those dark places I find comfort in logic, and the building that Wittgenstein is trying to unravel in me, is a castle not made of certainty or perfection  is a castle made only of consequent thoughts. It’s a sort of mathematical language really.
I wonder what he would think about the fact that his name finished right here, in my blog, after I spoke about cocks.

But this describes me perfectly I think: the love for logic, the love for cock.

I can’t wait to see where all this will bring me.
I want to be born again.

Sorry Ludwig.
You’re a fag hero today. ❤

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